calm, grey eye, than in De Montespan's sparkling black one.

That

is Scarron's widow. Madame de Maintenon they call her now. She will make her way."

"And, talking to her-"

"De Beringhen,-an honest man, they tell me, and a sincere friend of the King; more's the miracle! And that 's De Beauvillers, first gentleman of the King's bedchamber. How tired he looks!" "There are two quietly-dressed men in the fourth row," said Jean, indicating the direction. They are not gay; they look like a couple of crows in an aviary of bright-winged birds."

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"They are Racine and Boileau," said the Abbé; "Louis has great taste in literature. I have a little poem of my own, which I hope to be allowed to present to his Majesty. Bachelier, his garçon de garderobe, is a cousin of mine. I wish I could read it to you: I think you would like it.”

Jean shrunk from the infliction; but luckily the curtain rose at this moment, and the " Impromptu" commenced. It was a satire on the courtiers who had ventured to criticise Molière's last production, and on the rival company of actors-the tragedians of the Théâtre de Bourgogne. The King laughed heartily at the hits; and when the great author, Molière himself, delivered the "tag," which contained a well-turned compliment to the monarch, Louis rose from his chair, and bowed to the actor: a condescension which displeased Jean's neighbour extremely.

"To think," said the Abbé, " of his paying such a mark of respect to a comedian, a vagabond whom the church has excommunicated! A bad example, monsieur, -a bad example." And the

Abbé shook his head.

The comédie-ballet of the " Princesse d'Elide" followed; and Jean was obliged to avow that it was dull enough for a court performance, although compressed. He was a little relieved, however, by the appearance of Estelle des Urlis,-the " Estelle " whom Theria had left so unceremoniously when he fled to Liége, and who had returned to the profession from which he had taken her. She played Cynthie, cousin of the Princess; and her costume shewed off her neat figure and pretty face to great advantage. Marotte Dupré, who enacted Aglante, her companion and friend, exchanged, as Jean observed, anything but friendly glances with Estelle, whenever the action of the piece brought them together.

"Would you like to visit the coulisses!" asked the Abbé, when the curtain fell at the end of the second act. "I have the entrée ; we shall escape the crowd of the salle, and perhaps I may find time to read you my poem."

Jean shuddered at the prospect; but his wish to display himself braved even this condition, and he replied,

"With pleasure. I know some of the ladies of the company, and should be glad to exchange a few words with one of them."

He winked significantly as he said so; wishing to impress the Abbé with a notion that his acquaintance with the actresses was something very mysterious and improper.

Making their way with difficulty through the crowd, they left the auditory, and after some trouble found the "entrée des artistes," or stage-door.

The Abbé procured instant admission; and Jean, who was all

impatience to show off his martial dress to Estelle, took advantage of his companion's seizing the button of Chapelle, the friend of Molière, and noted epicurean, to slip away to the foyer, where he found, not Estelle, as he had expected, for she was on the stage at the moment, but Marotte Dupré, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and flinging bright glances and bon mots amongst them with a prodigality that was rewarded by a constant accession to her circle.

Jean hovered about, in the vain endeavour to thrust his little body into the way of a stray compliment, but in vain, until the appearance of Mademoiselle Molière-as Amande de Béjart was called, though the wife of the great author-actor-drew away the greater number of Marotte's court to the more potent one of the handsomest and most spirituelle coquette of the stage. Upon this, with true Gascon assurance, Jean seized the opportunity of commencing a fire of high-flown compliments to Marotte, who, nothing loath, added fuel to the fire by her answers. In fact, he quite forgot Estelle, and was becoming helpless in the toils of her lively rival, when he was suddenly recalled to his responsibilities by a terrific box on the ear. He turned, and, to his intense terror, beheld Mademoiselle des Urlis, who had watched his flirtation until her woman's jealousy could bear it no longer. Tiresome as Blacquart's admiration was to herself, she could not see it transferred to Marotte, who, from her first appearance in Molière's comedy, seemed to have taken a malicious pleasure in rivalling poor Estelle alike on the stage and the coulisses.

"Trou de Diou! that you were a man, Mademoiselle!” cried the Gascon, as red as a turkey-cock, and fumbling at his sword-hilt.

*

"Mademoiselle des Urlis is labouring under a misconception," said Marotte, with provoking coolness. She mistakes the greenroom for the Halles, and Monsieur for an old admirer. It is a souvenir she presents to you, Monsieur," she added, turning to the indignant Jean.

"Fourbe!" exclaimed Estelle. "Do not imagine I shall submit to your impertinence, as I have done."

"Impertinence! Take care, Mademoiselle," was Marotte's re

joinder.

"Tiens!" rapidly retorted Estelle. "Voilà pour toi!"

And she slapped Marotte's face, so that the room rang with the blow. Fortunately the crowd was gathered round La Molière, and did not heed what was passing at the opposite end of the apartment.

"A blow!" cried Marotte, springing forward; "this must be accounted for." And, whilst Jean gazed open-mouthed and utterly bewildered, she walked up to Estelle, and in a half-whisper said, "You can use a sword :-unless you are a coward as well as a coquette, meet me, when the comedy is over, on the Tapis Vert, opposite the fountain of Latona. Bring a woman for your second." "Soit," said Estelle ; " I ask nothing better. This struggle must finish sooner or later."

At this moment the "call-boy," putting his head into the room, shouted, with the shrill nasal twang peculiar to his class, " Maʼamselle Dupré-Ma'amselle des Urlis!" and the rivals, obeying the summons,

Or, in English, " Billingsgate."

passed on to the stage arm-in-arm, radiant with ready smiles, and commenced a most friendly dialogue. Jean, who heard the challenge imperfectly, could hardly believe his ears. He was too averse to fighting himself to believe in the possibility of women resorting to this plan of adjusting a quarrel-which, strange as it may appear to modern minds, was by no means without a parallel in the days of Louis the Fourteenth. However, it is probable he would have taken some step to prevent such a consummation, had he not been seized upon by the persevering Abbé, who, drawing him into a corner of the room, contrived to wedge him there with fauteuils whilst he read his new poem. Poor Jean groaned, and winced, and yawned, and sneezed, but in vain. On went the flow of the Abbé's rounded verse. He knew the value of a victim; and in the vernacular of the nineteenth century, was determined to take it out of him. Meanwhile, the play had terminated, and the guests who were admitted to the honour, had sought the Bosquet de Bal, where the orchestra was vigorously giving out the newest minuets and gavottes, under the experienced leadership of Lulli.

The Tapis Vert-the scene of the actresses' rendezvous-was a wide alley of smooth green turf, bordered by statues, fronting the terrace of the château, and the magnificent fountain of Latona. All the guests of the fête had been attracted towards the salle de danse, and the only sounds that mingled with the distant fanfare of the band were the sighing of the gusty autumn wind as it swept through the long avenues, whirling the reddening leaves to the ground; and the plashing of the numerous fountains.

There were two figures standing near one of the statues, and throwing their shadows athwart the moonlight: they were Marotte Dupré and Louise Gauthier, who, at the request of her friend, had accompanied her, without any knowledge of what was to take place. Marotte was in her stage-dress, over which she wore a roquelaure.

"But, what is the purpose of this rendezvous, Marotte?" asked Louise, as her friend uttered a hasty exclamation of impatience, and began pacing up and down before the statue.

"You will learn that in a moment, Louise, if Estelle keep her appointment," replied Marotte.

"Some one comes this way," cried Louise. ing from the shadow of the fountain."

"See-they are emerg

They are here at last-Dieu merci!" exclaimed Marotte. And, throwing off her cloak, she disclosed to the astonished eyes of her friend a pair of swords-not "stage" swords, but good serviceable rapiers. "For the Virgin's sake, Marotte," said Louise, "tell me what you are about to do with those weapons."

"Only a duel between Estelle and myself. Nay," she added, seeing Louise start, "it is not the first time I have handled a hilt."

And, after trying the quality of the blades by bending them until they almost formed a circle, she went through a series of passes and stocades that would have done honour to a fencing-master. Louise was almost too bewildered for speech; but, with a woman's instinct she threw her arms round Marotte, imploring her to abandon her purpose. But by this time it was too late. Estelle had come up, accompanied by a second in the person of Mademoiselle Duparc, an actress in Molière's company. The rivals bowed courteously to each other, and Estelle's second with perfect gravity saluted Louise, who was going wildly from one to the other, mingling tears, prayers, threats, ridicule, but all in vain.

VOL. XVII.

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